Can't Escape the Snow
by NobodyKnowsMyName
Summary: It's peaceful now. Everyone is happy and the Hunger Games have stopped. It's all so peaceful. Unless you happen to be named Cassandra Snow, President Snow's great-granddaughter, with everyone in the world wishing you were dead.


**My first book fanfic. Hoorah. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

My name is Cassandra, but no one calls me that because it's a bad name to have. A name common in the old Capitol. Common, but also very old. Everyone calls me Cassie, which isn't much better but is still an improvement.

Still, my first name isn't anything compared to the trouble my last name warrants.

The rebels - well I technically shouldn't call them rebels now that they've been in power for a little over three and a half decades and I most likely _wouldn't_ call them that if my grandfather didn't constantly refer to them as 'the rebels'- are not kind to those who support the old Capitol in any way, shape, or form. My _first name_ is considered to be in support of the old Capitol.

My last name garners automatic hatred. I try to avoid saying my full name whenever possible because my name is Cassandra Snow. The great granddaughter of Coriolanus Snow.

I'm in the middle of doodling on my homework when my dad announces to mom and I that we will be moving. My eyes snap to my father as I realize he's found out once again.

My father is the grandson of Coriolanus Snow. Luckily, despite the last name he bears, he looks nothing like my great grandfather. His eyes are a warm chocolate color and his hair matches his eyes if you don't count one or two strands of silver. My father couldn't look any less intimidating, could even be considered attractive, and the same goes for my mother.

My mother also has brown eyes and hair with skin as tan as my father's. She has old Capitol lineage as well, but no one would know if it weren't for her name. In her case, last name only.

I'm glad for them, because really they have never had any affiliation with the fallen Capitol except by genetic link and name, so they deserve to be treated with fairness. Their appearance and manner guarantees fair treatment despite their names. That is, until they're seen with me.

My parents really tried their best to prevent it from happening. They had me genetically engineered to have none of the traits that were 'Snow-like.' Needless to say it was a shock to see that I was the epitome of everything they had hoped to avoid. Hair as white as Snow, an accident that occured when trying to alter my genetics to make it light blonde, pale skin, and ice blue eyes that somehow always look cruel.

The similarity grew even more striking as I aged. At fourteen, I am very slim with full lips, incredibly long, dark eyelashes, a perfectly shaped nose, large eyes that might be called beautiful if they didn't come across as scary, long, glossy white hair, and pale as the paper I am still attempting to doodle on, regardless of sun exposure.

I should come across as frail and breakable, but that doesn't stop the instant look of revulsion older people have when they see my face. Everything about me looks like a genetically enhanced young female version of Snow.

That look I get from them is where it starts. From there the older people instill fear into the generations that came after them. The gossip wouldn't bother me if not for the fact that because of this I get bullied in school. I still wouldn't be as bothered if it were I only who was hurting. I've never been physically abused, so I don't see why this bothers my parents so much, but it harms them infinitely more than it does me.

That's why I try to hide the fact that the bullying happens. I learned how to hide it pretty well by the time I turned seven. By then, we'd moved from District 0, that's the name they replaced 'capitol' with, to District one, to District two, and on like that until Distict nine. When I was seven I realized it was my fault my parents were constantly dredged from their homes and what the source behind it all was. When I would come home from school I would always be crying, so one day I just stopped.

At first, my parents were delighted, but then, slowly, they noticed how I would come back missing a shoe or they would see that my books had pages ripped out. Since then, I've been under suspicion. As a result, I've learned how to act and lie incredibly well. I've been found out twice.

Actually, thrice.

"Why should we do that? Here it's much better than anywhere else we've gone. What makes you think it will be better in 12?" I say coolly.

My father sighs.

"Maybe it will."

I'm satisfied with that answer. I don't agree with it, but I'm happy he didn't say something like, 'I'm sure it will.' It's only fair since I didn't make him out to be a fool by denying being harassed.

My mother just looks at me unhappily. I know the reason and I know it will take her a couple of minutes to say it. Finally, she looks at me with the same expression as the last two times and asks her question.

"Why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?"

And I tell her again that it's because I don't mind it. I can tell she doesn't believe me. She hasn't truly trusted a word from my mouth since the first time I was caught. You can tell how desperately she wants to believe me, though.

Two days later everything is packed and ready to go. I say goodbye to our neighbor who is old but so crazy and completely blind that she doesn't hate me. I doubt she even knows who she was speaking to a few seconds ago when I walk out of her door.

As expected, no one is sad to see us go and no one comes to see us off as we board the train to District 12.

Mom and dad go to bed in our luxurious little cart almost immediately. I suppose it is late, but I decide sleep will be impossible for me for at least a few hours.

As is usual in my routine, I think back on which home I've hated most so far, or, actually, more like which ones have been the least bearable. Despite what I said earlier, the worst place I've ever lived has been 11. Before, it had only been bullying targeted to make things very inconvenient for me. In 11, they made it clear they wanted to hurt me. District 11 has been the first place to make me fear for my well-being.

I can't help thinking it's because I'm older, to give 11 a little credit. People can't justify beating and threatening a four year old, but a girl of fourteen is easier to make a case for. Especially a girl of my 'background.' By that, I mean of my blood.

I used to blame everyone's dislike of me solely on the name. I couldn't wait to get married and have a different last name but, as I got older, I realized the issue was an unchangable factor.

For the next thirty minutes I organize the Districts from most to least bearable. I'm getting tired and I know I should sleep. I still try my best to put it off knowing that in the morning I'll be in District 12. District 12, where I'll receive fresh waves of undeserved hatred.

Even with all my best efforts, I fall asleep within the hour.

"Cassie, get up, baby. We're here!" mom tells me much too cheerily.

I get up wordlessly and go to get my stuff. I don't bother combing my hair or changing clothes. Why should I try to make a good impression when it's already predetermined to be a bad one?

Our bags are numerous, a good thing about our lineage is that we are quite well to do, so we have to request the assisstance of some of the service people on the train.

I feel quite self-conscious, unnecessary considering there are literally no people out, as we walk towards my new house on the end opposite the train station. If I had to give this district a color, I would give it gray. And my color is definitely white. Shiny, hard to look at white. I feel like a walking target.

Our house is to be one in an area surrounded by identically nice houses. Houses that used to go to people who won the Hunger Games. Now the excess homes are put up for sale. I have a feeling that previous victors would hate me immensely, many times more than average people, and I voice this concern aloud. My father reassures me that any previous victor would be too old to really care and that he's pretty sure none of the houses belong to actual victors anymore.

I still have a bad feeling as the lot of us enter Victors' Village.

Only three of the twelve houses are occupied. Four, as of now. The first house is just as the others are as far as I can see. The second is also outwardly the same. The third offers some relief from the monotony with beautiful primroses blooming from the sides. I decide that our house won't be outdone and make a mental note to decorate it later.

As we trudge up the steps to our home I notice something a little odd. The ugliest cat I've ever seen is curled up in front of our door. Well, it's not quite an adult but it's not cute enough to be called a kitten.

My father nudges me and tells me everyone is waiting for me to open the door.

"Alright, but what about the cat?"

One of the service people holding our bags gets irritated with me.

"Just kick it off the side of the steps. Cats land on their feet."

I turn to glare at the bag boy, forgetting the effect I have entirely. The guy steps back and stumbles a little and I restrain myself. I try to say something that can reverse the damage I've done.

"Would you touch that thing?" I ask as nicely as I can.

I move to the side so everyone can see the cat.

My mother let's out a little squeak of surprise. My father shushes my mother and reminds her we are about the only ones awake since it's about four in the morning. He's the one that winds up picking up the cat and placing it somewhere safe.

When we enter the house I must admit that it's amazing. I feel bad knowing that, within a year, we'll be leaving it.

My mother goes directly to the living room, conflicted. The living room is set so wonderfully that our old furniture has no place among the furniture already here. She's trying to figure out how to make everything fit. My father goes directly upstairs to claim the best room.

I stand awkwardly near the door and then I remember I should tip the guys who helped us. I pull out some of my pocket money and place it carefully in the hand of the guy I glared at earlier, avoiding touching him. He nods at me and then the few others with him start heading back. The guy I had glared at is still standing in front of me.

I wait patiently for him to do something like call me a Capitolist freak. His next words shock me stupid.

"I'm sorry about before. I shouldn't have been so rude."

He shoves the money back in my hand and takes off after the others.

I feel my cheeks turn pink and tears fill my eyes. That was nice of him, considering he even knows my full name. Maybe if all else fails, I'll go live on the train.

I hear my father coming down the stairs and I quickly rub my eyes.

"Cassie, you can have your pick of about seven really awesome rooms."

I nod, but I am still focused on the bag boy's retreating figure.

I jump when my dad's hand claps on my shoulder. He smiles down at me and hands me my bags. I smile shakily and he interprets it as nervousness instead of seeing it as it is, that being something painful. He does his best to pretend he didn't notice the tears and sends me upstairs.

I pick a room. The room is probably not the most impressive but does have a unique quality that I like. The window in this room is different. It doesn't match perfectly with the house like the others do. It was most likely broken at one time and replaced to look as alike as possible. But this window doesn't have the restraints the others have. There is a simple latch used to open it completely and there is no screen preventing bugs from going in and out. The wall under the window has many good footholds. To put it simply, I can leave whenever I want without going through the front door.

I want to go now.

I rush downstairs to inform my parents that I will be taking a nap because I didn't sleep well on the train. They nod sympathetically.

Once in my room I lock the door. I go take a shower. I walk out completely dry. I smile, in 11 they refused to improve technology because it was 'Capitol' technology, so this is my first 'Capitol' shower in a while.

I pull on straight-legged pants, a light pink under shirt with a tailored charcoal jacket mostly covering it, a pink scarf, white earmuffs, and black boots.

I pull a bag over my shoulder, in case I stay out long enough to get hungry, and climb down the side of the house.

I decide that I can still go back to the other side of District without notice. As I walk, I realize how freezing it is. I didn't wear enough. I disregard this and keep walking. I doubt anything worse than a bad cold will plague me as a result.

The walk seems longer alone but it's still early when I reach the fence. I'm prepared to climb over when I notice a spot where I could slip under the fence. I almost pass it up for my mother's sake. Then I notice the barbed wire. Dirt on a jacket is easier to deal with than punctures in a jacket. Under it is.

The woods have always been my favorite place and, after four years of fields, it's far more than welcome.

I reach to take off my shoes. It's freezing, but not unpleasant. I wander far away from 12. A long walk later, I am standing in front of a lake. It's gorgeous.

My stomach growls and I dig food out of my bag as I conclude now is as good a time as ever to eat. I pull my boots back on, despite my love of feeling the dirt under my feet, because it's far too cold to safely keep them off.

I'm in the middle of biting into a roll of bread when a snapped twig alerts me of company. I panic. By person or animal, it would be bad to be found.

In seconds I'm up the tree I'd been resting against. In spite of my appearance, I am actually quite physically capable.

My heart skips a beat as I am made aware of the fact that I left my food down by the base of the tree. Aren't I just brilliant? I look up at the sky and listen intently for any noise that would indicate movement.

After a minutes time has passed, I determine it is safe to jump down from my branch. I'm about to push myself off. I look down to make sure I avoid landing on my bag and let out a shriek.

Every muscle is stiff as I try to readjust my position on the branch. My eyes are locked with the person who has silently appeared at the base of my tree.

He seems to be about my age, although I'm high enough up to only notice blonde curls and young, better than average features, but the first words out of his mouth make me hate him. And potential friend 1 is already counted out. It sucks because I'm sure someone as lovely as that could get people to let me be.

"That's a weird hair color you've got. Some type of Capitol fan?"

That's something I really hate about rebels; they still talk about the Capitol like it exists. I become mad at myself as I realize I am guilty of something similar. I glare at him with as much venom as I can. The boy simply smiles.

"I guess that's a touchy subject since most people truly hate you guys."

I come to the decision that I want to kill this boy. He only makes it worse when he sits at the base of the tree and starts eating my food. In the old Capitol that would have been punishable by death.

My unreasonable fury at this guy has made it to where, from the bottom of my heart, I don't want to say a word to him. Instead, I kick my boot off and try to make sure it lands directly on him.

It lands on my food and my mouth gapes open. The boy looks up at me quizically.

"I'm guessing that wasn't what you were aiming to do."

"Of course not," I breathe out in spite of myself.

The boy is suddenly grinning at me.

"So you do speak."

I answer with a glare.

"You know, you can come down anytime you like."

I felt compelled to answer this for some reason.

"I feel safer up here."

"Safe?"

The boy seems genuinely confused as he looks up at me in question.

"And why wouldn't you be safe down here?"

Because you're a rebel bastard who will probably beat the shit out of me given the chance. I don't say this, of course, because that wouldn't improve the situation any. The hatred in my stare seems to actually make him uncomfortable.

The boy is suddenly up and facing away from me. I notice that the back of his ears are red and, for a moment, I wonder if it's from the cold. Then I realize he's lost his patience with me. He's angry.

"You know, I would make sure you'd be safe if you came down here."

I'm completely disarmed. I would normally doubt his words immediately, but for some stupid reason I'm on the ground before I ever really make a conscious decision. I guess it's due to the irrepressible urge to check and see if I'm right about what I thought just before I climbed down.

I'm to his right a few feet away before he even notices me. He jumps back a little, unprepared for my proximity. I smile as I realize I'm silent enough to sneak up on this stealthy guy. That's when I remember why I'm down here and I look to prove or disprove my suspicions.

I'm so baffled to find that I'm right that I don't quite know how to procede, so I open my mouth, sigh or make a frustrated noise, and repeat the process a few times.

He wasn't flushed out of anger. He was blushing.

"What's with that?" I finally yell, frustrated beyond belief.

This time, it's the guy who doesn't know what to say. In a few seconds he asks, "What's with what?"

He's on the defensive and it almost makes me want to smile. My lips twitch. The boy notices and stares at me quizically. I must seem like some piece of work, considering all the confusion constantly radiating off the guy a few yards away from me.

"Nothing, I guess."

I shake my head as I walk over to grab the food that was still good, never taking my eyes fully from the person now only a foot away from me. If he decides to attack, I'd at least be able to get away. Judging from his clothing, there would be no comfortable place to conceal a weapon. And now I have my bag, and all the silverware it contains.

I look up to find that he never looked away from me, either. I find that I don't trust him enough to take my eyes away for a second, even to check my food supply. I'm up the tree again before he can blink.

I don't check to see his reaction, because I wasn't trying to gloat or anything. I learned to do that after years of running from people. Trees are the best escape because not many people can climb trees without low branches or footholds.

I'm rummaging through my bag as I ask him my question.

"Would you do me the honor of giving me your name? I keep thinking of you as 'that guy,' or 'the boy,' and 'he' or 'him.' I've even refered to you as 'the person.' "

The boy looks up at me and I notice it because the movement is distracting. I grimace as I see that only the tiny bit of packaged food survived my shoe.

"Brimet."

My head lifts slightly toward him and I smile absently.

"That's nice. Brimet. I assume this is what you would like me to call you? Unless a rebel bastard like you doesn't want a Capitolist freak like me to call you that."

I can't help my smirk. I'm safe up here, so if he gets mad I'm good. I was paying him back for ruining my food. His reaction confounds me yet again.

He's laughing.

"A rebel bastard, huh? Well, then. That's pretty funny. Anyway, while rebel bastard is good, you can opt to call me Brimet or just bastard if you want. And what should I call you?" Brimet asks, beaming.

"Cassie," I can't help grinning back as I answer.

"Well, Cassie, I don't know exactly how a rebel bastard and a Capitolist freak can get along but I think I would like to try it."

I put on a faux serious face, fooling Brimet entirely.

"I don't want to try it. Really, how do you see this ever working out?"

His face looks instantly discouraged and I regret teasing him immediately.

"Crap, it was a joke. Sorry, um, crap, I-I didn't really- I mean, I do want to be your friend," I fumble over my words, trying to reverse the damage again. Maybe I shouldn't joke under such circumstances. That being friendless, stuck in a tree, and with my school life's comfort hanging on his shoulders.

The knot in my stomach eases as soon as Brimet smiles again.

"Alright, Cassie. I wouldn't mind being your friend," for some reason, he sounds perfectly fine again, sarcastic, even. He's leaning against a tree opposite me when he gives me a wry smile.

"Just for the record, your acting could use some work."

My face heats up immediately. That bastard!

I slide down the tree and at last conclude it's okay to walk up to him. I'm right beside him and I get the sudden sensation of being dwarfed. Brimet is a good ten inches or so taller than I, and I'm not short. Now that I'm not at least ten feet above or away from him, I start to notice more what he looks like. I find that he's more than lovely.

He's got the body of a god and I hate him for it. Broad shouldered and super tall, while entirely avoiding the problem of being too skiny that often comes with tall guys. The closer I look at him the angrier I get. He's perfect down to the last detail, including a matching god-like face topped with golden cherub curls.

Then I notice the gray eyes that seem out of place on his perfect face. They're a fine color, like most eyes, but I was expecting more of the extraordinary. I feel like his eyes would fit me. If we were to switch eyes he would have stunning eyes on top of everything else. I feel sad to know that he would probably make my cold eyes look cheerful.

I look at him and spit my next words out cattily.

"I've decided to call you Bastard."

Brimet just smiles and acts as though Bastard is an exceptable name.

"You aren't seriously going to let me call you that are you?" I stare at him, intrigued by his response.

"I gave you the option. I can't really complain if you want to use it."

"Fine, then Bastard you shall be. You can't be fine with this. Why isn't it bothering you?"

"Why let it? I honestly don't think you'll stick to it, so I should be fine."

"And with that, you've made it to where I shall never use the name 'Brimet' to adress you again. 'Shame, I really liked the name."

I stop looking up at him to twirl away for effect, and then I recall I shouldn't trust him. I turn back to see he'd been looking up.

I look up as well and see the sky. I realize I have been out here much longer than I'd planned to be. I tell Brimet that I'm going back.

"I'll go with you."

This stops me in my tracks.

"You'll what?"

My reaction seems to puzzle Brimet.

"I'll go back with you. It's dangerous out here and, as a trial friend, I can't let you go back alone. I would've tried to stop you from coming up here alone if you weren't so quick."

He saw me leave?

"What the hell were you doing up at such an hour?" I ask.

"You know, you have quite a foul mouth. It's surprising considering how you look."

I'm unsure why, but I feel like he's trying to avoid a certain subject. I decide to drop it for now and agree to let him take me home after a bit of banter about my 'foul mouth.'

When we get to the fence I find that there's a gate. Multiple gates, actually. Brimet laughs at me as I try to make up a reason as to why I didn't go through the gates. They were all rather feeble. In the end, I give up and tell him it was because I didn't know there was one.

We walk together for a bit in silence and I realize it's as comfortable as if we'd been friends for years. Or more like he was family, since I don't really have a real previous friend to reference this to.

"Hey, Bastard, how old are you?" I ask, needlessly, since I know he must be close to my age.

"Twenty-eight," he answers without hesitation, "You?"

I open and shut my mouth uselessly again as I fail to find words. Twice my age. What the hell? But he looks so young and - He notices how flustered I am.

"Yup, I'm afraid it will never work out for us, Cassie. I mean, what are you? Twelve?"

My face is suddenly very hot, painfully so, despite the cold. My face is turned as I answer.

"Well, aren't we cocky? I'll have you know that my face isn't red because I like you, but because I've never really talked to a guy who was just joking around and talking with me. So, even though I know you aren't serious, I can't help an automatic response."

"An automatic response, huh? You sure are odd. I wouldn't mind being around you. It's too bad I'm twenty-eight . . ."

I notice him grinning and suddenly I get.

"Bull shit," I smile because I know I'm right.

He looks at me and grins even wider.

"You called it. In reality, I'm an age that would allow us to work out even if you were twelve."

"And that age is?"

"Sixteen."

My comment sounds snappish, but I'm actually quite happy.

"Damn. I was really hoping you weren't older than me so I could rub the 'twelve' insult back in your face."

"Oh, so you're not twelve?"

"_No,_ . . . I'm fourteen."

We talk a little but end up returning to silence. Mostly because there are people up now and I'm a little afraid to be acting so pompous around them.

When the sounds of the market start to fade, I find I'm curious about something and I want to ask.

"Hey, Bri-Bastard, how did you know I would fall for the twenty-eight bit? Even with your acting skills it was a stretch considering how _not _almost thirty you look."

"It's because of the fact that it was you. You're too trusting."

He acts like that's the end of it but I stare at him expectantly until he goes on.

He sighs.

"When you first got here I was already up. I took notice of you because, well, you stand out. But, I had stuff to do, so I let it go. And then I see you pass by again, alone, and slip under the fence," he huffs at this like it's obviously something ridiculously naive.

"I followed after you but you walk as if you have seven feet long legs. And then I find you at least thirty or so feet in a tree without any branches lower than the one you were sitting on. At first, you were properly on edge. And then, all I had to do was play up the red from the cold and say my line and you came right down. About an hour later and you feel like you can turn away and zone out and that's not a safe thing for _you_ to do!"

Wrong. Something was wrong with what he just said. It was too pointed. 'Not safe for _you._'

Insight. The sudden click and then everything makes sense. I'd been curious as to why he had followed me this morning, been up to notice me the first time, had looked so familiar, and why exactly he had followed me this far when the only thing left in this direction is Victors' Village.

He'd been tailing me since I got off the train. He'd followed me into the woods because he was leery of me. He's here because he lives here.

He's familiar because he is the son of the Mockingjay and Peeta Mellark.

Bermit Mellark knows I am Cassandra Snow.

Bermit knows I've figured it out and looks as if he wishes to take it all back, for obviously there's a reason he didn't bring it up in the first place.

That's when I see her, Katniss, my new neighbor.

**I liked it. It was written very quickly and again, I apologize about the most likely terrible summary.**


End file.
